Underground at the St. Louis Gatway Arch

While visiting the St. Louis Arch (which is quite impressive) I was taken in by the spatial/visual rhetoric of the underground museum on the Westward Expansion designed by Aram Mardirosian. A 2/3s circle exhibit where the visitor can theoretically (although most, including me, seem to first work around the outer edge which depicts the chronological events of Lewis and Clark) choose where to begin and end their exploration of the museum. At the center of the circle Jefferson stands with his back to the museum entrance, peering off into the tall columns which announce different issues (Explorers, Railroads, Miners, etc.) caught up in the westward expansion, each physically placed closer to the center or further away depending on the time period. As one explores the columns, pragmatically also holding up the ceiling, and hidden cases of "artifacts" in the cut out columns, the dates, all listed on the ceiling, increase as the exhibit extends to the edge of the circle (see the easily navigable virtual tour).

I wasn't all that interested in the subject matter of the museum but the design and rhetoric of the space caught my eye and lead to dozens of photos, discussions with rangers, and the purchase of the official museum book. It goes without saying that constructed space mediates how we experience ideas, particularly shaping how we create hierarchies. It's less clear to me how quickly we can reconstruct our notion of normal and useful. My guess is that most people experience this museum as they experience traditionally sequential museums as attested to by my sister and soon-to-be brother-in-law: "I'd never thought much about the design," i.e. "you are one strange guy to take to a museum."

I'm reminded of Amy Devitt's comments at CCCC, the conference which got me to Chicago and the St. Louis,(thanks Mega for help on this) about how students utilize the rheotrical moves of written genres, whether they are appropriate or not, they learned in high school when confronted with new writing situations. Templates, or genres, help us navigate and make sense of new genres or new spaces, like this less rigid, less chronological museum. But, of course, the old genre can also restrict our ability to fully engage with the new design: "So, where's the beginning?" Maybe it's only possible (and I'm stealing from Mega here) to fully experience new genres of texts and space through repeated experience and sustained effort. That is it's too much to ask someone to get it on the first or second or third try. The rewiring, reconnecting, and recombining takes time. Not out with the old as the mantra but reconfiguring and utilizing the old to contruct a new whole.

It's great to be wanna be rhetorician--life is all the more interesting.

"Son of a Whore" or Shogun revisited

I'm watching Shogun with my son. He's interested in all things Japan so I thought this might be an interesting film to see (any other film recommendations?), not to mention the nostalgia I hoped to experience as I had, as an eleven year-old, eagerly watched nightly installments of Shogun. Of course, as is to be expected, it’s difficult to watch—the special effects are terrible (the first death shows a head flying off before actually being struck by the sword), the Japanese inverted Mohawks look ridiculous, and the cultural authenticity is a stretch at best. Still, it’s kind of fun and I just realized that my son is also eleven.

I wonder how he will remember the film as he gets older. It fully engaged me as a youngster. The only TV series that had more impact on me was Roots. Both seemed, at the time, to be cinematic perfections to my young eyes. Somehow I wish for that simple idyllic day when I could get fully caught up and lost into a so-so film.

My “favorite” Shogun moments so far:

During a storm Chamberlain refers to his ship as a whore; later, in a jocular kind of way, he refers to a Japanese commander as a son of a whore after the commander saves Rodrigo.

Rodrigo, the Portuguese pilot, single handedly conquers all Japanese custom and language in one fell swoop.

A Japanese Samurai falls into the pit of English prisoners; he stays there until they prisoners are finally let out; he bows to his lord (for mercy, for honor?), the lord throws him a sword and the young Samurai commits hare-kare. I vividly remember seeing this scene as a kid—it had really disturbed me. Past met present: “Dad, what is he doing? Why is he killing himself?”

Terrible overbearing music which abruptly screams, “Feel tension NOW”

Unbelievably no foreign translations of the Japanese except when the Jesuits are translating which of course isn’t good for much because the Jesuits are at war with the Spaniards and English and intentionally mistranslate.

First day of spring break

Somehow it doesn't feel much like spring break. First, I just finished shoveling 6" on snow; second, I'm home on a Monday morning, as I am every Monday during the semester, grading papers, scoring a quiz, and reading student email. It might feel more like the break tomorrow except for then I must face my "To do list" which stands as the following so far:

*do taxes
*change over fridge door
*add electrical outlets downstairs and fix three-way in kitchen
*read/think about new YA lit course
*go to bike store: pedals for rd bik, shoes, new bike computer
*figure out new I-Pod (got it for 30 bucks at RC Willey after spending $600)
*read seeing and writing 3 as possible text for visual rhet class
*plan run and bike race schedule for spring and summer
*follow up on several odds and ends I've been putting off for months
*Read: Lance Armstrong's war by Coyle, Nigger by Kennedy, and Seeing voices by Oliver Sacks
*reformat home computer in order to get rid of viruses, slowing etc. Oh how I do not want to do this

May someone (God? the universal existentialist aura? THE force? whatever?) bless me to feel good about what I actually get done this spring break.

All too yellow urinals

I frequent a restroom close to my office and without fail I flush three or four urinals after or while using my urinal--I can pee and flush. How do men in good conscience leave that yellow stuff for the next guy?



I mean come on guys! How hard is it? We don't even have to sit down; all we have to do is unzip and stand there. The damn flusher lever is right there staring at us—one fling of a hand and the movement toward the sink and it’s all done.

Maybe it’s because men wants to pee and run without washing his hands, but most men don’t strike me as germaphobes. Please help me understand. In the meantime I will continue to befuddle the gentleman washing his hands while I bop from side to side flushing every urinal in reach. The last thing I want to do is smell the urine of the last guy there; the only thing worse is when all the urinals are occupied but one and I must stand right next to some stranger urinating. Certainly women have it tough but at least they have the stall wall to provide some distance.

Women may envy the quick pee, especially at concerts and sporting events, but as you can see the urinal poses many a problem and I haven't even mentioned the dangers of the drip or the unintended splash.

p.s. I happened upon this image--maybe this would do the trick to ease my urinal discomfort.